The Pretty Things (round two)
by Kincaid
Summary: The gang leave Sunnydale. Faith hides out waiting for the Watcher's Council. This is the second half this story. The first part is achived seperately. It deserves the R rating I gave it. Sexual violence, character death. Rewiews and criticism craved.
1. flight

A/N: I'm uploading this as a separate fic because the whole thing looks like it will be quite long. Seemed like too much to leave in one chunk. 700 chapters seems wrong somehow.  
  
  
  
"The Pretty Things"  
  
  
  
Anya lifted her head wearily and looked out the window. It was still dark but she could see the thin tendrils of light reaching out over the mountains. Almost morning. She yawned and snuggled her head back on Xander's sleepy chest. She watched the land crawl by as the bus made its way across the countryside. She was glad. Relieved even.  
  
This would be a new life for both of them. Her and Xander, starting fresh. He'd get a job building things. Anya was debating going to back to school. She could get a piece of paper that qualified her to count money all day long. That sounded nice. Boring, but nice.  
  
They'd traded their plane tickets for bus tickets that would get them out of Sunnydale well before morning. Hasty packing and quick goodbyes took place in a matter of hours. They'd send for the rest of their stuff later and Xander was working on convincing his parents to relocate as soon as possible. Hopefully not to Pittsburgh, though. Anya had seen just about enough of the Harris' for one lifetime.  
  
She glanced up at Xander's face. He looked peaceful. He wasn't wearing that worried-nightmare look that had been so common lately. She was certain that things were going to finally work out. For the first time since she lost her powers, Anya was truly happy to be human.  
  
***  
  
Tara grabbed the last of the bags and headed for the boarding gate. The plane was scheduled to leave any minute. Willow was still working on the ticket situation but with a little luck they'd be in their seats and learning about emergency exits in a matter of minutes.  
  
Tara felt a pang at the thought of leaving Sunnydale. So much good had come out of her stay here. She had friends. She had a home. She had a lover. For the first time in her life, she'd felt like she belonged and now they were leaving. Probably forever. Somewhere between the location and the memories, Tara felt that she'd made a place for herself in Sunnydale.  
  
It didn't matter, though. The most important thing was on her way back right now. Waving a ticket folder and grinning. They would be together. Wherever they went, they would be together. Willow picked up her things and the two women entered the gate.  
  
"Well, we're off. Goodbye Sunnydale." Willow smiled. Tara knew that it was only a matter of time before Willow realized how much of herself she was leaving behind. But for now, it was okay.  
  
"Wave Goodbye to the Hellmouth" Tara chuckled and waved, amused.  
  
"France had better watch out. We come bearing bad touristy outfits and cameras that weigh more than we do." They boarded the plane.  
  
***  
  
His return was well received. Olivia met him at the airport and drove him to her apartment. She seemed happy to see him. Relieved. Her last visit to Sunnydale had been more than a little traumatic. Giles was sure that she had been thoroughly scared off. In fact, she had been. But it was different now. There was no slayer, no Hellmouth. Just a lonely man who'd forgotten how to live without a mission.  
  
In her arms, he began to remember.  
  
*** 


	2. the pretty things

***  
  
Spike watched the shadows in the crypt grow longer. Little snakes of light were sliding backwards along the floor. It was almost sunset. Another hour, and he'd be free to roam. He'd spent the day trying to get a little sleep but he was so restless. As usual, the day, for Spike was one long time out. It was like being punished as a small child.  
  
"You'll stay inside until I say you can leave." The dim memory of a woman's voice. His mother? A nanny? He couldn't remember. He remembered the feeling, though. Being cut off from the outside world, limited, like his arms had been tied to his side and his mouth stuffed with cotton. What he wouldn't give to go outside just now. He watched the leaves rustling and rippling through the door, the spring sunshine turning them emerald and pale gold.  
  
The last year had been the hardest. He could no longer ignore the facts of what he'd done in the past. It wasn't so much that he felt guilt. No, guilt was for Angel. It was the constant repetition in his mind. Images of people, who, like him, were limited in their existence. Humans, so weak, so vulnerable. Practically unable to fight back. The thought of torturing them now was like torturing himself. He had been rendered soft and weak.  
  
He had killed for food, once. It was the food chain. Clean, simple, and without thought. Blood was life. Blood makes you strong. It makes you hard, it makes you feel. Without it, he would have died. There were no moral ambiguities there. Now, everything was an unpleasant shade of gray. Killing was easy. The burden of one's own weakness was much harder to bear.  
  
"The hardest thing in this world is to live in it." The words rang hollow. Such sentiments were all fine and good as long as one was living. For the dead, however, things were more complicated. Life was complicated but limbo was an utter abstraction.  
  
He knew now, that he had loved her. The Slayer. It was perverted, he knew. Of course it was and always had been a joke. It didn't change the fact, though. And he'd loved Dawn too. He didn't understand their relationship. He'd never had a child, he never would. He didn't know if this was how it felt, but his drive to protect her was compelling.  
  
She was so fragile. And now she was completely alone. She'd been sent away almost immediately after Buffy's death. To live with her father. Who'd never actually met her. It was bitter to think of her now. When it was all too late.  
  
Spike's eyes focused and he realized that it was night. He wondered where Faith had holed up for the night. She must have discovered the Great Escape by now. It had been almost 24 hours since he'd first seen her. Morbidly curious, he wanted to know just how broken she really was.  
  
He also wanted to see how the Council's hunt panned out. It could get juicy.  
  
He decided to start at the highschool library and track her from there. When he arrived, though, he was surprised to discover that she hadn't even left the building. The remains of the library were in even more pieces than they had been the night before. Vicious, red claw marks stood out in upon the splintered wood. Sniffing, Spike knew that the blood was human.  
  
He took in the mess around him, whistling under his breath. She'd done a lot of damage in one day. This bitch had strength. And stamina.  
  
Then he spotted her. She was curled up under a piece of the old, smashed library table. Maybe she'd felt safer with her wooden blanket. She was lying very still. Spike thought for a moment that she was already dead but, listening, he could hear her breathing.  
  
She looked so wounded. So totally lost. He crouched beside her and reached his arm out. She allowed him to touch her face. He wasn't even sure that she knew he was there. Her dark eyes were open, but mostly vacant. Something moved in them, but he couldn't identify what.  
  
Spike gently brushed her hair back. Her expression seemed so familiar, as it should. It was the same expression that Buffy had worn once. When she had been so lost that it had taken a miracle to bring her back. Well, if not a miracle, then the concern of her friends.  
  
Buffy's face and Faith's were melting into each other. A composite was beginning to form in Spike's mind. He ran his hands over Buffy's face and felt Faith turn hers towards him. She was warm and alive. So beautiful.  
  
Was this vision of Buffy a ghost? An angel? Spike wasn't sure but his lips found hers and he held her tight in her arms. His embrace so tight that she could hardly breathe.  
  
  
  
[I am a drug]  
  
[I am a dragon]  
  
[I am the best jazz you've ever seen]  
  
[I am a dragon]  
  
[I am the sky]  
  
[I am the blood at the corner of your eye]  
  
[I found the secrets, I found gold]  
  
[I find you out before you grow old]  
  
  
  
Finally, they were together. Spike would devour her. She was so soft and smooth. Her hips were pressed hard against him rubbing against him seductively. She squirmed and wiggled so deliciously, it was all he could do to tear her shirt off and fumble with her bra. Unaware of his movements, he found that he was on top of her.  
  
Beneath him she heaved with anticipation. Her breast arched towards him like the breast of a swan. He nipped at her breasts and began to feel himself grow hard. Reaching down, he undid his pants and rubbed against her writhing body. He tore through her pants and underwear with his sharp teeth. Gently, he held her down while his hands moved in and out of her, warm and ripe.  
  
Finally, he entered her. Savoring the sensation of her tight flesh surrounding his, he began to pump back and forth. The resistance and friction was heavenly. In his frenzy, he felt her become suddenly, tremendously wet. He felt her shudder beneath him in her ecstasy. He hoped it would never end. He came inside her, shooting his love deep into the center of her body while she moaned beneath him.  
  
It wasn't enough. He grew hard again in a few minutes and began again. And again. Finally, she could do nothing but heave beneath him and grow still before spasming once more. So taken was she by his love. Lost in joy, he fell asleep hours later, the two of them still connected.  
  
  
  
[You're still breathing but you don't know why]  
  
[You're still breathing but you just can't tell]  
  
[Don't hold your breath but the pretty things are going to hell]  
  
  
  
Faith continued to shudder long through the night. She could feel very little anywhere in her body except her slashed, mutilated nipples and the pool of blood that had formed around her broken pelvis. It was expanding and she was getting farther and farther away from it. She stared emptily at the night sky above her, watching the cosmos rolling around like a top. A few short hours before dawn the blood and flesh fell away from her and she became the wind that rushed through the exposed library rafters. 


	3. a lesson

Spike woke up feeling the sun burning hot trails into his back. He turned over and cursed. The library's ceiling had been nearly obliterated. The sun was rising and he was completely exposed. The sun was not yet directly above him. He had a few minutes, perhaps a half hour to find someplace safe to spend the day.  
  
It was then that he noticed the body beside him. And the blood that coated much of his body as well as hers. The puddle extended for several feet around them. Crimson. Spike was hungry.  
  
A wave of unneasiness passed through him. What had happened the night before? He tipped the girl's head up. Her face was pale and encrusted with blood and salt. She was barely recognizable. This was Faith. Not Buffy but Faith. And she was dead.  
  
Waves of fear were shaking his body now. He'd killed her. He hadn't eaten her, he'd just killed her. It wasn't like him to kill so wantonly. He dropped her head back to the floor. It landed with a soft thud. Spike examined the damage.  
  
Her pelvis was shattered and bloody. Deep gashes ran across her breasts from where he'd bitten her. Two ribs were discernible, sticking out at odd angles from her abdomen. He didn't even remember her struggling.  
  
Spike found himself feeling rather strange. He felt weak and sick. He hadn't been sickened at the sight of blood in more than a hundred years. Yet now, here he was, unable to touch the corpse of his victim. He almost vomited at the thought that only minutes ago, he'd considered eating her blood from the floor around them.  
  
The sun was beginning to burn the back of his neck quite seriously now. He ducked, half naked beneath the shelter of an upturned bookshelf. He could see his long, dark jacket where he'd left it. Across the room. The centre of the room was barricaded by a long band of bright sunlight. He'd never make it. Spike realised that he was probably stuck in the library for the remainder of the day.  
  
He made his way up the still shaded stairs. He had to choose his steps carefully to avoid bringing down what was left of the construct. He found a well covered spot between two cracked bookshelves. He had to shield his face from the glare of the sun as it began to rise in earnest. If he was careful and didn't fall asleep or get careless, she should be okay til sundown.  
  
Except that he could still see Faith's body. She lay completely still. The last time he'd seen a human girl look like that had been the morning Buffy had died. A corpse was a corpse. He kept telling himself that. Slayers were really no different than other humans. They lived, they fought, they fucked and then they died. So what if the fighting was daily. And the fucking was explosive.  
  
It wasn't supposed to be deadly, though, was it?  
  
He'd been in love with a human girl. She'd been more than most humans, but she had been mortal. Painfully, horribly, dangerously mortal. Blood is life. It's hot, nourishing and tastes like an hot iron shot of espresso going down.  
  
Faith had been as strong as Buffy. As beautiful, though in a different way. Buffy died because of his failure. Faith, his grief. The blood around her hips would still be warm. His insides turned.  
  
No matter how you cut it, Spike was beginning to the see another, more gruesome symmetry shaping his fate. The Powers That Be couldn't have come up with a more disabling punishment for a century of depravity if they'd tried.  
  
So this was the way of it? He was unable to shake it off. These human emotions were crippling. He was a bird caught in a net. First they'd clipped his wings, and then they'd woven a wall around him.  
  
Spike was learning. Slowly, but surely, he was becoming more and more certain that he was being punished.  
  
*** 


	4. the council

Travers stood in the empty store and frowned. He'd been certain that Faith would have made contact with those little twerps that had been helping the Slayer. Well, ex-Slayer.  
  
He couldn't believe that she'd been so stupid as to return here, of all places. They knew this town all too well. Buffy Summers had been a thorn in their sides for years now. She was dead, though. It was all very sad, of course but Travers couldn't be bothered with grief or sympathy.  
  
The Council wasn't one hundred percent certain that another Slayer hadn't been called after Buffy's death. It would take a few weeks of performing the appropriate tests on the candidates before they could be sure. Eventually the girls would be killed off, mostly, failing the first of their tests.  
  
If any were left standing, there would be more tests. One must be completely sure. The running theory, however, was that Buffy's death would not result in the selection of a new Slayer. Kendra had been her replacement and Faith had been hers. Still, it was not unwise to check.  
  
That's why they had to find Faith. Once she was dead, the testing could really begin. Suppose one of the girls was scheduled to replace Faith[,] but was killed during the testing? If she hadn't received Slayer strength yet, it would be virtually impossible for her to survive a week of intense fighting.  
  
Irritated, he tried to contain his frustration and refrain from punching the wall. A phone rang. He pulled a compact cell phone out of his pocket.  
  
"Travers here."  
  
"Sir, the new Slayer has been found. She's in Oregon. Montrose tested her this morning. There's no doubt in his mind that she's the one."  
  
Travers hung up the phone. Their theories must have been wrong. It was not unusual for a Slayer to be found several weeks after her predecessor's death. It took anywhere between minutes and months for the Essential Slayer to fix on a new host. He was surprised, though. He had been firmly of the belief that they would find nothing until Faith's death.  
  
For a moment he considered the fact that they had chased an eighteen-year old girl across the state to murder her, only to find out that it hadn't been necessary after all. What if they'd waited another hour to phone him? It might have too late for Faith by then.  
  
He shut his mind to such idiotic thoughts. The Slayer was hardly a young girl. The Essential Slayer was pure predator. A natural hunter. Her only purpose was to kill. In a way, she was worse than the vampires she killed. The Slayer didn't kill to eat, she just killed because her body screamed inside itself until she did. The girl that she'd been was irrelevant. Faith was a wild animal. She had to be controlled.  
  
But if Buffy's death had hailed the calling of a fresh Slayer, wouldn't Faith's as well? It was not too late. He was certain that they could capture her and stage some sort of accident on the return to England.Surely the Council wouldn't find fault with him. Especially if they didn't know.  
  
His phone rang again. For a moment he thought it might be Whitney again. Telling him that it was all a mistake. Instead, he heard the unusually weak voice of Valerie West, the only woman on the team at the moment.  
  
"Quentin,"  
  
Infuriating woman. Using his first name like that.  
  
"We've found Faith. At the high school library.or what's left of it. You'd better get down here."  
  
He hung up again. Signalling to his men to follow, Travers walked out of the shop and into the bright Sunnydale morning.  
  
***  
  
Val swallowed hard. This was far more than she'd ever bargained for. She turned her face away from the rest of the team. There were four of them, Travers and his three men made eight total. Eight fully armed people to take down one eighteen year old girl. Even then, the Council had warned them of the dangers of this mission. Had they been able to spare any more people they would have. Times were rough. Watchers were scarce. Nothing to be done.  
  
The girl didn't look supernatural. She looked just like any other eighteen- year old girl. She still lay in the pool of her own blood. The scene in the library was ghastly. They could all smell iron.  
  
Ashes had stuck to the mats in the girl's hair. They turned her hair a grisly shade of grey. Her face was so young. Now, she just lay there. Subject to the gaze of a lot of strangers who'd just spent the last several weeks trying to kill her.  
  
The Council had called it an assassination. Assassinate. The word had a clean, military ring to it. Political. Well, it damned well was political. The Council wanted this girl dead because she'd broken their rules. It wasn't like she'd signed up for the job.  
  
It wasn't an assassination, it was murder, pure and simple. They had come to kill this girl, who they had helped to shape, because she no longer served their purposes. Val had accepted the mission when it was presented to her. She couldn't remember why just now.  
  
She'd felt honoured to be selected to lead such a prestigious task. Her sense of pride in her work had been stroked. That was all. It was an ego boost.  
  
Now, she wondered if she hadn't made a big mistake. The moment she'd seen the girl, lying there, she'd known that the Council would never again be the object of awe for her that it once had. Her ideals seemed trivial now. Was she fighting the good fight? Or was she just wading through a load of bullshit bureaucracy to be patted on the head and told that she'd done well?  
  
Travers entered the room. All eyes rested on his as he moved closer to the prone form of the girl on the floor.  
  
"You already killed her?" He sounded like a little boy who'd missed a party. Val tried not to change her expression visibly.  
  
She had great respect for Quentin Travers. He was very, very good at his job. She also held him in the highest contempt. He only seemed truly productive when they were searching for a new Slayer. He fed off of their deaths. She called him Quentin because she knew it annoyed him.  
  
"Quentin, we didn't do it. She's been dead for half a day, we think."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
She's been raped, you blithering idiot. Can't you see anything?  
  
"Well, sir, it looks like she was raped. Quite brutally it seems. We don't know how it happened. No normal man should have been able to defeat her."  
  
Unless it wasn't a normal man. Unless she had already been defeated. Val refused to fill in any more blanks for him. She'd seen the claw marks on the wall, she'd seen the weak signs of struggle painted in the blood on the floor. She'd seen the men on the team sneaking looks at the girl's naked body.  
  
"Well, it doesn't matter who did it. It saves us much work. Clean this place up and we're headed to Oregon. A new Slayer was located just this morning.  
  
Travers stalked back outside, looking vaguely disappointed.  
  
Val ordered the men to wipe down the walls and clean up the body. She couldn't bear to look at those eyes any longer. Faith. Her name had been Faith. She had a name and now a face. She'd had a life and a mind.  
  
Everything that the council had ever told Val about Faith seemed unimportant now. That she'd killed several people, that she'd never had a real family, that she'd aided in one of the infamous Sunnydale apocalypse attempts. From what Val had gathered, the girl's family life had been abusive. She'd had no friends. Killing had been the only thing she was good at.  
  
It was past noon and Val was tired. She honestly didn't think the Council could possibly pay her enough for this job.  
  
*** 


	5. dreams

Back at the hotel, Val took her shoes off and sank, exhausted, into a heavily stuffed arm chair. She was so tense. This whole trip had been a nightmare. She was seriously considering leaving the Council for good.  
  
It was an idea that had occurred to her more than once over the last few years. She knew that her parents would be outraged. All that time she'd spent trying to convince them that {the} her calling was with the Council would have been wasted. The truth was, she just wasn't cut out for this kind of work. There was too much injustice.  
  
The whole notion of a Slayer was unfair to start with. When she'd been fourteen Val had been informed that she was a Slayer candidate. She'd begun having the dreams when she was twelve. Her parents, growing concerned about her increasing insomnia and paranoia, had taken her to see a psychologist. The doctor had probed her about these dreams, and rather than trying to find out what was bothering the girl so much, sent her to the Council instead.  
  
There'd been a formal hearing, during which she'd described her dreams to them. One dream in particular had stood out. The most fearsome, the most gruesome.  
  
Val stood in an empty warehouse, facing woman with dark brown hair. Though beautiful, the woman was too thin. Her dress hung off her emaciated frame and her enormous, glassy eyes were wild. The woman and the girl were walking in wide circles, facing off. Suddenly, the woman's face changed. Her forehead crumpled in on itself, forming long ridges and lumps on her brow. Her mouth widened and filled with sharp, misshapen teeth. She smiled and launched herself at Val.  
  
Val didn't gasp. In the dream, this felt normal. They fought. Val, who had had never trained in any sort of fighting, was stunned at her own speed and agility. Something in the back of her mind suggested that Val herself was only occupying another girl's body for the dream.  
  
Then, the woman stopped fighting. Confused, Val fell back. She stared as she fell back. The woman was murmuring to herself. It sounded like gibberish. The woman stared intently into Val's eyes. The unnervingly pale eyes were mesmerizing. Unable to break the gaze, Val heard footsteps in the room around her.  
  
She could not see the woman who'd arrived, but she could hear two distinct voices now.  
  
The first woman was smiling now. "Look at what I've caught us for dinner. She's fresh and tender. She needs some flowers for her hair. To make a proper party." Her slow voice slipped and slid over Val's skin like mercury.  
  
"Oh sweetie, you shouldn't have. She'll make a wonderful hors d'oeuvre. She's too small for a meal, though." The second woman's voice was as different from the first as caramel to peppermint. Where the first had been low, hers was high.  
  
"Oh no. She's not small at all. She's large and full of light. She glows like a beacon." The woman reached down and pulled one of Val's hands to her face. Trailing the girl's fingers over her brow, the woman nipped at Val's fingertips. She picked up the other hand and tied the two together with thin metal wire. Val could feel the circulation being cut off from her hands, but she was unable to move.  
  
She knew that if she could break free from the dark haired woman's gaze, she could free herself. But it was if her whole body had been submerged in thick gelatin. She could feel her mind becoming foggy. Soon it would be too late.  
  
"Don't you see what I've caught us, Grandmother? She's very lovely."  
  
"Yes, she's pretty enough. But hardly special." The other woman, Val could see that she was blonde, was peering too at Val's face now. "She's got a spark.I see it, but what is it?"  
  
"It's the Slayer, Grandmother. She belongs to me. I'll feed her every day and take her for walks in the park. We'll make teacups out of ice and play Old Maid all night long. Would you like to play too?"  
  
"The Slayer? Are you certain? She's much tamer than I thought she'd be."  
  
"She likes me. I'm like her mummy. I can make her do anything I like. And I do so love figs."  
  
"Angelus will be very impressed."  
  
"She's not for Angelus, Grandmother. She's for us. Angelus will only take her thoughts from her and make her insides dim. I like her better this way. Play a game with us, Grandmother."  
  
"A game?" The blonde woman came closer to Val's face. She turned and threw her long cloak over the banister behind Val. Pulling both ends tight, she drew Val's arms high above her head. She tied to cloak to the metal wire and smiled.  
  
"She's ready, my darling. Where will we start? Is she going to wake up any time soon?"  
  
"Oh no. She can barely move. Her soul is already mine. Lost, lost, lost, little Alice got lost in the looking glass. The Jabberwocky is after you."  
  
Val knew it was true. Something inside her had dissipated while she'd been under the dark woman's spell. She knew that the other girl's spirit had left her body already. Val had no power over this body. She could only watch.  
  
"We must start from the top and work our way down. Look how her hair shines in the light. Like a thousand twinkling stars. But don't tell Angelus. He'll be awfully cross. Do you promise?"  
  
"It'll be our little secret, Dru." Darla smiled and ran her fingers through Val's hair. It was thick and pale. Val was aware that her own, real hair was very different. The consciousness that had shared her mind at the start of the dream was gone.  
  
That was when the dream became dimmer. Some nights, the women played with her for hours and hours. Other times it was only minutes. She was always stripped naked.  
  
Some nights they'd draw their teeth along her flesh, cutting ditches into her skin. Her blood would drip onto the floor and they would lick it from her heaving sides. Eventually, she would feel the body die around her.  
  
Other nights, they would each take a nipple into their mouths and bite down simultaneously. The sound of tearing flesh. They would suckle at her bleeding breast until she lost consciousness.  
  
Occasionally, they would lose interest with her entirely. They would draw a little blood and drink it from each other's mouth. Eventually, they would get so lost in their private passion that Val would begin to think she might survive. Then, she would move or make some sound and one of the women would get up and kill her quickly so they could continue without distraction.  
  
Val had always been under the impression that a person couldn't feel pain in her dreams. The pain in these dreams had been real. After a particularly brutal night, she would wake up with gashes in her side. The Council was most interested in these. No Slayer candidate had ever had dreams that extended into the physical world.  
  
Nor had a Slayer candidate dreamt alternate endings to a documented event. Val had, unknowingly, become their most precious project. She was a complete enigma to them.  
  
For a time, they suspected her of being the next Slayer. In fact, several members of the Council had suggested that she might be some kind of Super- Slayer. Quentin Travers had been one of those Council members.  
  
Back then, he'd been younger, but no less ruthless than he was now. He'd taken a special interest in Val and she'd always known that he was setting himself up to be her Watcher when she was inevitably chosen. They were all certain that she would be. They said she had extraordinary talents.  
  
Talent. Hah. Talents were being able to play the cello or being good at soccer. What talent was there in a thirteen-year-old girl who had vivid, chronic nightmares?  
  
  
  
Then the current Slayer had been killed. Val, then fifteen, was placed under constant surveillance. After seven days of constant prodding, poking, and beating at the hands of Travers himself, they'd discovered a girl in New York who had taken to lurking in alleys and rescuing people from random muggings by throwing their assailants over her head. She didn't fight vampires yet, but she would be trained.  
  
Val had been all but abandoned. Returned to her enraged parents, the information collected by the Council about her dreams had been filed. She was of little use to them after that. Travers, embittered and furious, turned in on himself for several years, frustrated that he had been wrong. He'd spent so long cultivating a relationship with this girl, setting himself up to be the logical choice for her Watcher when the time came. In the end, his attentions were wasted just because she hadn't had the sense to be Chosen.  
  
For several years, Val had tried to forget about her experiences with the Council, but the dreams didn't disappear. She would carry the nightmares with her for years. Her parents, afraid to send her to another psychologist, cut their losses and tried to make it up to her by buying her expensive presents and vacations.  
  
When she was eighteen, Val returned to the council. This time, not as a Slayer candidate, but as a supplicant. She begged them to let her become protégé to one of the Watchers. The nightmares were still plaguing her and the Council was the only place where she'd been able to openly admit to their power over her. It was as if they'd been driving her here. She thought that if she could learn more about the world of demons and vampires she might be able to vanquish the dreams once and for all.  
  
Instead, she'd come only to realize how truly inexplicable her situation was. No one had ever documented dreams like hers. No one had ever come any closer to explanations about her either, in the years of her absence. In fact, no one had tried. Travers had given up completely on her case. No one else dared to take it on. So that was it. Her dreams were a mystery. She didn't know why she had them or what they meant.  
  
But, there she was, an eighteen-year-old with intimate knowledge of the power of the supernatural. She learned avidly throughout the next few years, consuming knowledge like water. There had always been the hope in the back of her mind that she might see something that the others had missed. Something to explain her.  
  
There had been nothing so far. Val was beginning to fear that there never would. As it turned out, though, her avid research had proved to be invaluable to the Council. With her knack for remembering obscure facts, she was perfect Watcher material. They'd trained her and cosseted her and at the age of twenty-three, she'd emerged as a full member of the Council, the youngest in their long and complicated history.  
  
A twenty-three year old female Watcher, she was the object of much bitterness among many of the other aspiring Watchers. She'd had to prove herself time and time again. No one could seem to believe that this thin wisp of a woman could possibly make a decent Watcher.  
  
Of course, she knew that it was highly unlikely that she would ever have the opportunity to actually act as a Watcher to a Slayer. She was secretly glad of that. It was hard to see these girls, used up before their time, fighting a war that could never be won against monsters and other horrors that never backed down.  
  
Val had never been able to decide whether or not Travers had been on her side or against her. He resented her for what he felt had ruined his career. She hadn't lived up to his expectations and he hated her for it. On the other hand, he was always recommending her for tough assignments such as this one, that would only serve to make her appear stronger in the eyes of the Council.  
  
Perhaps he was only trying to get her killed. Sending her to deal with the most dangerous threats that the Council faced was a wise way to go about it.  
  
And now this. Everyone on the team was confused and shaken by the rape of a Slayer. Well, Quentin never seemed shaken. But it was a rare occurrence. Actually, Val was almost certain that it had never happened before. A Slayer couldn't be raped. It seemed beyond anything they'd ever imagined.  
  
These powerful girls, who could, and had, averted apocalypses were supposed to be taken down by something much bigger than a man with a hard-on. To be fair, Val was fairly sure that whoever had done it had been a vampire, not a man, but that seemed irrelevant right now.  
  
The thing that bothered her the most was the fact that Faith had not been able to fight him off. There was no reason for it. Why had she allowed this to happen? Val knew what it was like to powerless in a similar situation, but what exactly had happened to Faith?  
  
She knew that the council would brush this under the rug like so many other things. It made them look negligent. Among other things. They'd been trying to kill this girl. Someone else had done it for them. Case closed. Mission accomplished.  
  
There was a knock on the door of the hotel room. Val groaned and heaved herself from the chair.  
  
It was Travers. She was surprised. He rarely talked to her when he didn't have to.  
  
"Quentin. Come in. What is it?"  
  
Travers' brow tightened when she called him by name. Val had long ago learned to appreciate his facial expressions. She took secret delight in making him squirm. He'd not become a Watcher until he was 35. That was about average. It marked him as average. He despised what the Council referred to as "Val's genius."  
  
"The new Slayer. Her name is Bethany Smith. She lives in Oregon and she's sixteen years old. Montrose claims that she's a potentially difficult charge."  
  
"Montrose is awfully new to be taking responsibility for her. Shouldn't someone a little more.er.weathered be around?"  
  
"Yes. My thoughts exactly. Unfortunately, Bethany is rather.how do I put this?"  
  
"Bluntness can be a great virtue, Quentin. For God's sake, just spit it out."  
  
"She doesn't like men. She's resisting every one of Montrose's attempts to get close to her. There's a history, but it's complicated. She refuses to trust him even a little. She's very volatile and we can't afford another uncontrollable Slayer."  
  
"What I'm proposing is that she become your charge. You're very young but."  
  
She was no younger than Quentin had been when he'd been coveting an active Watching position in her life. That didn't matter, though. Quentin always regarded her as an unruly little girl. Too late to change that.  
  
"I think that your loyalty to the Council is enough to convince the others that you're more than capable. Of course, this is not entirely up to me. There will be a formal meeting in the next few days back at the college, but I doubt that anyone could think of anyone more qualified."  
  
Val knew that qualified meant nothing more than biologically suited. She was the only woman within the Council right now who had the seniority and skills to become an Active Watcher. And now here was Quentin bestowing upon her the greatest of honours available to him. And just moments ago, Val had been grateful that she'd never be required to live up to those honours.  
  
Then again, Val was also well aware that this girl was important to the Council. They would do anything to make sure that she did nothing inappropriate. Val felt a pang of sympathy for this Bethany. After all, she was very young. The girl had an undesirable path ahead of her.  
  
Quentin was looking at her. Val knew he had come to her before any of the others because he wanted to make certain that she'd be on board before he presented his idea formally.  
  
Looking back, she was never sure why she did it. Perhaps she wanted to get back at them for controlling so much of her own life or perhaps she just wanted to believe that Quentin had truly seen something valuable in her. Whatever the reason, she nodded.  
  
"Thank you, Quentin. It's a wonderful opportunity. I'm honoured."  
  
Quentin looked up, vaguely surprised that it had been so easy to convince her. He smiled, though. Finally his name might be cleared. Back at the Council they would thank their lucky stars that Travers had been brilliant enough to find this bright young thing who filled their need so precisely.  
  
"Good luck, Valerie. You'll meet her in the morning."  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
  
Spike emerged from his hiding place at sunset. In their haste and shock, the Council team had failed to notice his black leather coat on the floor behind a bookshelf.  
  
He'd watched the day unfold, tensed for a fight. He had known, however, that the Council would be well armed and he'd have little chance against them. He'd found himself wishing, a little, that they'd just have done with it and stake him already.  
  
Back at his crypt, Spike was relieved to find a jar of blood still in the fridge. It tasted stale and a little off, but not bad enough to really bother him. He drank it and tried not to think of Faith.  
  
Something of huge importance had happened, but he wasn't sure what it was. Was it that he'd killed a Slayer? He thought not. He'd done it before. There was something else.  
  
Unable to harm a living creature without intense neurological pain. The line that separated demons from humans was blurred. He was little more than a man with big teeth. Faith had not been dinner. She'd not been his prey, she'd been a young woman with limits similar to his. It hurt to kill. They were the same, really. Her pain was organic, his was not. What did it matter? The source and the effect were the same.  
  
He needed to get out of Sunnydale. He suddenly felt like his old self. Not his cocky, vampire self. His really old self. He was William the Unsure once more. William the Pathetic. He had been beneath her, after all. Cecily, that is. He'd been so stupid. He'd given up his life for a moment of acceptance from some crazy bitch who'd cornered him in an alley.  
  
Drusilla had seen into him for a moment. She'd seen the insecurities lurking within and she'd taken advantage of them. More than a century later, he was finally ready to let her go. The old William had deserved more than her.  
  
Spike realised, suddenly, a facet of the true nature of vampires. They were more than just predators. Their power was in their ability to look down on humans. Use them. Kill them. Consume their flesh and lives like air. Conscience and ethics depended upon one's own powerlessness.  
  
Humans -vulnerable, and mortal -needed something to hold them together at the seams. It was no wonder that they'd developed a sense of morality. Morality was just a fancy way of saving one's own ass. The Golden Rule. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. A ridiculous balance of trust and sympathy. Necessary to survive. Without it, what else was there but madness?  
  
In a moment of clarity, Spike began to pick up his most valuable possessions. He would leave, after all. It didn't matter where he went, now that he knew the rules. He had a system for survival. He felt surprisingly good.  
  
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?  
  
  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  
  
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'  
  
  He chortled in his joy.  
  
-Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky  
  
***  
  
  
  
Val stood behind the rest of the team. She may have done it out of sense of drama. If she was to be this girl's Watcher, she should be presented by Travers with all the hoopla and pomp at his disposal.  
  
The girl looked every bit of her sixteen years. She had spiky black hair and ridiculous striped stockings on. Her clothes made her look like something between a circus performer and a rock star. Well, perhaps rock stars and circus performers didn't look that different at all. But the girl was definitely strange.  
  
Val found herself sweating a little. She hated to admit it, but she was terribly nervous. If she didn't get along with this girl, where would she be? She'd be nothing. Disillusioned with the Council, she'd probably return to England and settle for some mediocre job that she hated only slightly less violently than this one.  
  
Val tugged at her suit, suddenly self-conscious of the conservatism of her outfit. She'd always thought that to make a good impression, one should err on the side of the majority. Now, she felt like a stuffy old bag, who was highly unlikely to win this girl's confidence.  
  
Quentin was speaking now.  
  
"Bethany.or is it Beth? Let me tell you formally how glad we are to have found you."  
  
"Doesn't matter." Her voice was sulky and Val couldn't tell which of Quentin's phrases she was referring to. Used to this sort of thing, Quentin plowed on.  
  
"You're a very special girl, you know. You have extraordinary talents."  
  
"It's not talent, my body's been taken over by a supernatural force. I can't even stop it."  
  
Val frowned. This girl had thought the situation through. She was smart. Thank God for small mercies.  
  
"Nevertheless, you're a Force of Good now. You must celebrate your new- found strength. As a Slayer, you've been given a powerful gift. You must learn to use it well."  
  
"You'd call it a gift? What utter bullshit. It's not a gift, it's a death sentence. Get over yourself. Please. Christmas morning. I get up and look under the tree, and Oh! Look! It's a big ole' box of DEAD BETHANY. Just what I've always wanted.  
  
"Look, Quentin. Can I call you Quentin? I hate to burst your little bubble, but this is not exactly the job of my dreams. I'll do it because I'm the only one who can, but I refuse to grovel and scrape because I've been 'blessed with the power to fight the good fight.'"  
  
Quentin paused, a little put out by this girl's lack of gratitude. Val, on the other hand was trying to keep from grinning. Since Quentin seemed finished talking, Val stepped forward.  
  
"My name is Valerie West and I'm your Watcher. I'd like to point out that Mr. Travers is a very powerful man and you'd best stay on his good side. He can be very petty at times and you wouldn't want to risk his anger."  
  
Bethany cocked her head, eyebrows raised. "Of course." The girl was suddenly diminutive. The team looked relieved and Val was shocked to see none of them realised that this girl was goading them. She was teasing Quentin, pushing his buttons. Val seemed to be only one who noticed.  
  
Val stifled a smile. "You'll be under my charge, from now on. I'm sure you're aware of how delicate a situation this is. How many people know about your powers?"  
  
"No one. I'm not exactly the friendly type and my parents are dead."  
  
Quentin looked pleased. An anti-social Slayer with no familial ties was just what they needed right now. He would be glad to get back to England and tell the Council. He would look very, very good at the end of the day. 


	6. Bethany

The Council team left that afternoon. With them had gone the last concrete thread that had connected Val to her old life. From here on in, it was all new. She already rather liked Bethany. The girl had a flair for rebellion.  
  
Underneath the veneer, though, was something darker. Val couldn't identify it. She let it go for now and concentrated on getting to know the girl who was to be under her care.  
  
Bethany had been living in a small, cluttered apartment since the death of her father six months ago. Her mother had died when she was small. She'd lived with her father for the intervening years. She was loathe to talk about that time and Val did not press her.  
  
"How did your mother die?"  
  
Bethany looked up suddenly. "She was eaten." Her eyes took on a mischievous gleam. Val couldn't tell whether the girl was lying or not.  
  
"By what?"  
  
"By whom, I think you mean. She was eaten by Drusilla. I think you know her."  
  
"I know of her, yes."  
  
"I've read about you, you know. That's why I told Montrose that story about being nervous around men. I knew they'd give me you instead. You had dreams about Drusilla and her Mom."  
  
"We don't refer to a vampire's sire as a mother, usually."  
  
"Why not? It's the same idea, really. But Angelus was Drusilla's Mom, right? Darla was more of a step-mom."  
  
"Grandmother."Val knew this story well. She'd studied it for years. "But they're not really families. They're monsters. Incapable of love." Val did her best to look Bethany in the eyes as she said this. The girl's stare was unnerving.  
  
"I don't think they're that much different than us. They just know what they're capable of. If we could, we'd probably do it too."  
  
"Humans have souls. That's the difference between a human and a vampire. The soul."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
***  
  
Val moved into a large apartment in the middle of town. She was glad to be rid of the hotel room. She was trying to convince Bethany to move in as well. There was certainly room enough.  
  
"I like my space."  
  
"So do I, but everyone needs a little company once in a while."  
  
"I have company."  
  
"You do? Who?"  
  
"Ghosts."  
  
"Ghosts?"  
  
"Well, and I have a friend. She doesn't know about you though."  
  
"Are you going to tell her?"  
  
"I might. I want to wait until I know if I like you or not."  
  
"I see."  
  
***  
  
The Slaying itself was fairly easy. The little Oregon town was nowhere near as busy as Sunnydale had been. Val and Bethany would patrol every night. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes they wouldn't.  
  
Bethany picked up the fighting skills quickly. She had a lot to learn but she'd covered a lot of the basics before Val had even arrived. There were stacks and stacks of books in the girl's room dealing with everything from witchcraft to crossbows. She was avidly learning history both under Val's supervision and on her own as well.  
  
"Why are so many of the Watchers men?"  
  
"It's a very old organization and there wasn't room for women in it until fairly recently."  
  
"But the Slayer has always been a woman, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"So all through history, since the dawn of time, it's been some old guy sent to look after a teenage girl?"  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"Sounds like a shady combination to me." Then, "why did you become a Watcher?"  
  
"I'm not sure. You remember about my dreams, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well, they would scare me so badly. I thought that the only way to get rid of them would be to learn everything I could learn about where they came from. I read a lot. Like you. I thought that if I learned enough I would be safe."  
  
"Did it work?"  
  
"No."  
  
***  
  
Val and Bethany were sitting on the floor of Bethany's apartment Val was showing her pictures of demons and Bethany had to identify them.  
  
She held up a card.  
  
"Boura. Can be killed with salt."  
  
"Good. This one?"  
  
"Toojah. Heavy armour with a weak spot in the knees."  
  
"Excellent." The phone range.  
  
Bethany scrambled up and reached for the receiver. Val watched her, curiously. The girl was far from introverted and yet she was so impossibly secretive. Well, no. About some things she was very forthcoming. About others, nothing. Val still didn't know anything about Bethany's father or this mysterious friend of hers.  
  
"No, she's here right now. Uh huh."  
  
Bethany was standing in the doorway staring blindly in Val's direction, phone receiver in hand.  
  
"Do you want to?" She was asking the phone, not Val.  
  
"Okay. We're almost finished here. Bye."  
  
Bethany hung up.  
  
"She's coming over here. To meet you." Bethany smiled a little.  
  
"Does she know why I'm here?"  
  
Bethany scowled. "I told her. You can trust her, though. I promise."  
  
"We must still be careful."  
  
***  
  
Within five minutes there was a soft knock on the door. Bethany got up to answer it while Val cleaned up the picture cards and her own notes.  
  
She'd written very little down about her and Bethany's conversations. Next week she would be required to send an envelope containing her journal entries back to the Council. She would have to spend the weekend filling in the blanks. Val despised the idea of telling the Council too much about Bethany, feeling it was something of a breach of confidence. Surely Bethany knew what was expected of her, given that she'd read several books about Council policy. God knows where she'd gotten them from but Val hadn't gotten around to asking yet.  
  
Bethany was a true enigma. Val was not yet privy to the girl's secrets. Bethany had been exposing little pieces of herself very slowly over the course of the past month but Val was no where near knowing anything concrete about her history or even her present. For all Val knew, Bethany could have been lying about everything.  
  
Val had another concern. Bethany had not shown any signs of the hunger that was so common in Slayers. She was not violent. Her fighting was clean, eerily concise and without any sort of passion whatsoever. Val didn't understand it. She'd seen Slayers fight before. They'd always had this fire in their eyes, as if they'd seen too much. Bethany's eyes were clean and fearless when she fought. Val didn't know whether this was an act or a peculiarity.  
  
Bethany led another girl into the room and sat down with her on the old, dusty sofa. The other girl had shoulder length black hair and she looked vaguely Asian. Her brown eyes were bright. One eye looked stronger than the other. It looked as though an old injury had left her with a scar above her right eye. She looked a little like a reflection of Bethany herself. Val wondered if the two were related.  
  
"Val, this is Bronwyn. Bronwyn, this is Val. She's my Watcher."  
  
Bronwyn stared coolly at Val with her good eye. Val reached out to shake her hand. The girl offered it up, limply.  
  
"Bethany and you are close friends, then?"  
  
"We are partners. I helped her fight before you got here."  
  
Val was surprised. Bethany had not had her Slayer strength more than a few short hours before the Council had arrived. She'd been fighting before Faith's death?  
  
"Fighting? Have you had any formal training?"  
  
"I've been a boxer since I was a child. I taught Bethany. Her mother was killed by monsters. We were fighting back."  
  
Suddenly Val wanted to ask this girl just how old she was. She could have been fifteen or sixteen like Bethany but she could also have been much older. Her lazy eye was disconcerting. Val was nervous. She didn't know what to make of this strange girl. Just when she thought she was getting to know Bethany, in walked this inexplicable presence who made the hairs on Val's neck stand up.  
  
Bronwyn whispered something to Bethany who was staring at Val. Bethany looked annoyed.  
  
"Val, she's on our side. You look like you've seen a ghost. Be nice!" Bethany's voice was not chiding, it was cool and commanding. Val didn't know what it all meant.  
  
"I'm sorry. Of course. It's just not Council Policy to let regular girls fight alongside of the Slayer."  
  
"What about Buffy? She had friends, right? I read about her. They let her get away with it. Why not me?"  
  
"Because you're not Buffy. The last thing the Council needs right now is another Buffy. They're scared and they're dangerous. As far as my records are concerned, you, Bronwyn do not exist. Perhaps you both think that you're strong enough to fight like this, risking each other's life, but you're just children." Val sighed. Something told her this argument was useless. Bronwyn was still looking at her, expressionless.  
  
"Take us out tonight. We work well together. You'll see."  
  
Val rose. Against her best judgment she said "All right."  
  
*** 


End file.
